


Good Instinct

by What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bones is So Done, First Contact, M/M, Relationship Reveal, temporary memory loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests/pseuds/What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests
Summary: The sounds below turn into plaintive whines and gusty sighs, until with one alarmingly powerful smack to the plant’s trunk, the beast shuffles away in the dark. It sounds achingly familiar, like a puppy, looking desperately for scraps at the table.Maybe its nocturnal. Maybe something else caught its attention. Or maybe Jim is just not worth the climb, when other creatures are so much easier to catch. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he is alive.He does not sleep.[Edited]
Relationships: Implied James T Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	Good Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start posting my stories more often, instead of just writing a few paragraphs and getting nervous. This one has been sitting on my hard drive for awhile, under the working title "Alien Game", so I decided to give it a try! 
> 
> Characters could be AOS or TOS, whatever you choose!
> 
> Update: I found another version of this on my laptop, and honestly I like the editing better. So if it seems slightly different now, thats why!

_“According to your Healer, this injury will be both visible and minimally destructive”_

_“Your Grace, truly there is no nee- Ow! Jesus, really? ”_

_“The triad is our way. May this mark call the creatures to you. May you pass the first challenge of survival, to meet the second challenge of wisdom.”_

_“Oh? And whats the third? Whats he gotta do for that, you round nosed little -“_

_“The third, Healer McCoy, is compassion. May you accept the truth, James T Kirk, and prove yourself worthy.”_

_“…Thank you.”_

_“Begin."_

\--

When Jim wakes, it is to the sound of a howl, and an urgent buzzing beneath his skin. Instinctive terror sends his body into a crouch, eyes open wide against the darkness, as panic chases the sleep from his thoughts. Combat training keeps his movements quiet, but The Captain’s breath still sounds harsh in the cold night air. Jim has been in this situation before, and while the knowledge threatens to overwhelm him, his body remembers the game of survival. 

Quickly, he assesses his surroundings. Muscle memory propels his hands to his side, and sends his vision glancing across what appears to be a clearing. He sees no sign of other people, and his weapons are missing. Dimly, he understands that he should have a beacon as well, but his hands are met with nothing but empty air. He is alone.

Jim knows he is missing something important. Memories are fading through his mind like smoke, but on a basic level, Captain James T. Kirk understands that his people would not abandon him so easily. Something is very wrong. 

Quietly, he sniffs the air, checking for the scent of blood. Another spike of fear drives through him, when he notices the iron tang. But the howling is getting closer, now, and there is, no time to consider the terrifying implications of memory loss. 

In front of him, in the light of a moon, he can see the edge of what appears to be a forest. Jim leans onto the balls of his feet, and without thinking, he is racing across the clearing. His instincts urge him up, to grab a branch and hope for a tree. The vegetation is thick, and he does not know where he is, but the plants are tall and Jim is scared. Like his ancestors before him, Jim climbs, and he waits. 

—

Jim does not realize, until he is safely hidden amongst the leaves, that the blood he can smell is his own. His entire body aches, enough to cover the pain of a cut, but his face is wet with something, and it drips steadily from his eyebrow. 

Whatever it is, it has brought the howling creature here. While he can't quite see it in the dark, Jim can hear the beast prowling around the base of his tree. The creature is growling, low in its throat. He is scared to breathe. He is scared to move. Most of all, he hopes the dark leaves will hide some of his own crimson blood, even as the smell hangs heavy in the air. 

But slowly, the sounds below turn into plaintive whines and gusty sighs, until with one alarmingly powerful smack to the plant’s trunk, the beast shuffles away in the dark. It sounds achingly familiar, like a puppy, looking desperately for scraps at the table. Maybe its nocturnal. Maybe something else caught its attention. Or maybe Jim is just not worth the climb, when other creatures are so much easier to catch. 

It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he is alive. 

He does not sleep.

—

When Jim finally, slowly, makes his way down the tree, he is exhausted. His body shakes with the effort of staying awake, and his stomach roars with a familiar hunger. He relieves himself by the tree, bladder more pressing than anything else, but his other needs cannot be ignored for long.

Still, it is this exhaustion, burrowing deep into Jim’s bones, that prevents him from noticing he is being hunted once again. When Jim looks over his shoulder, he sees nothing but insects and leaves, highlighted by traces of magenta sunlight reaching the thick forest floor. In his desperate state, he has even spotted several rodents darting between the trees. But after an hour or so of walking, his skin starts to crawl with suspicion. His mind might be shaken, but he did not survive Tarsus by losing track of a threat for long.

Thankfully, this isn't the same creature as before. So far, the footsteps have been nearly silent, and distant, in their continuous pursuit. They are measured, as though designed to match Jim’s own. But if he stretches his hearing, if he listens closely enough, he can just spot the difference in the cracking of leaves along the floor. This is a persistence hunter, and one with a great deal of patience.

To this end, Jim keeps his own pace steady, showing no signs that he is flagging or worried. If his companion is in no hurry, then he should not provoke them now. Unfortunately, his stomach continues to cramp with hunger, and he knows he cannot keep this pace forever. He is weak. If he stalker doesn't know that yet, they will undoubtedly notice soon. 

So it comes as a welcome surprise, when Jim hears water in the distance. He joyfully turns to walk towards it. The best decision, now, is to outsmart his pursuer. And since his wound has finally stopped bleeding, the water may dull his scent trail. Or perhaps drown his stalker. 

Either way, it works. 

—

In the end, the source of water is nothing more than a stream, burbling noisily through a small clearing. The forest, carpeted by lichen and thick, almost hay like grass, gives way to mud and a few feet of sharp rock. Carefully, Jim crosses the new terrain, before cautiously stepping in. 

It is cold, and shallow, but blissfully clear and inviting. He drinks a few handfuls, hoping to clear the pounding in his skull. It works, and for a moment, Jim feels something dangerously like hope. Bolstered by the water, he turns to look at the trees in front of him, and with great effort, shuffles his boots through the stream. He only stops, when he reaches the trees, because he hears a soft gasp behind him.

There, four feet away, stands his persistence hunter. 

It is humanoid, and short, with the appearance of a five year old at most. Tattered clothes reveal pale skin and dark hair. Jim’s heart, always bleeding and far too big, breaks at the sight. Especially when he notices an achingly familiar pair of pointed ears. 

Vulcans are far from powerless. Jim isn't sure how he knows this, but right now, he does not have the strength to question his memories. Instead, his mind simply circles back to thirteen pairs of young eyes, staring up at him in the dark of a cave. It circles back to a single pair of brown eyes, meeting his, over a - 

over a - 

game?

Later, Jim will marvel at everything his mind retained, during this little adventure. He will understand that everything he knew, everything he recognized, was born of knowledge so deeply engrained that it had finally become instinct. His time on Tarsus, unsurprisingly, is a scar that extends into his very soul. But these memories are combined with his love of the stars, the smell of Bones’ whiskey, and the depths of Spock’s eyes. His feelings for Spock, and his love for his crew, are burrowed deeply. He can hear the sound of a boson whistle, in his sleep.

But for now, Jim simply works with his instincts. He lifts one hand, and lets muscle memory spread his fingers. 

\--

The young Vulcan seems unsure of how to proceed, so Jim stares at the kid. His little hunter hadn't expected the water to be so cold, colder still than the rest of this damn planet, nor had he meant to give away his own position so quickly. He also hadn't expected Jim to be friendly. 

At least, that is what the Captain assumes. So, he walks back through the stream, and extends his other hand out, slowly reaching for the young child's arm. Jim knows that touch is not usually welcome among Vulcans. But he also knows that this is the fastest way to understand.

Cautiously, the young Vulcan reaches back, his brow creased with confusion. It quickly melts into desperation, when his fingers brush Jim’s arm. Jim is met with a rush of emotions _(fear, exhaustion, hope, loneliness, frustration, confusion)_ and knows that this is a terrified Vulcan boy who never meant him any harm. He simply saw another humanoid, and desperate for help, wished to investigate.

Jim tries, in his own clumsy way, to meet the emotions with the brush of his own. He sends _(safety, hope, promise, courage)_ and attempts to swallow his own _(fear, relief, confusion)_. He can’t tell if he succeeds, judging by the kid’s face, but the Vulcan slowly relaxes. Jim knows now, if it wasn’t clear from the rags and matted hair, that the kid has been alone for some time.

Jim took care of so many children, last time. But he will take care of one more. Always. 

—

_“Goddamit, you sliced his forehead like a Christmas Turkey!”_

_“We were informed that this process would be entirely mental. Was that incorrect, Your Grace?”_

_“The process is mental. And just as it began, it has already ended. Your mate is unharmed. Congratulations on your bond.”_

_“Spock’s what now?!”_

_“Be still, Healer McCoy. Captain, I must apologize. I have committed a grievous error. It is clear that you have faced these trials before, and proven yourself worthy. You will regain your ability to speak momentarily, and when your healer has addressed you, please join us in the council chambers.”_


End file.
